Ch 7

I was presently sitting on the settee staring at a porcelain hound atop the mantel. I had expected him to change quicker than I, he being the great magician. He wanted to talk. So many conversations with the glass between us, a young girl's secrets and yearnings spilled. A man's so carefully crafted script. I clutched at the pillow that had found its way into my lap. I twisted the satin corner. I was so gullible to believe in the Angel of Music. Sent from my father indeed. He was a man, no longer the Angel of Music. We used to talk so why was I so unsettled by his suggestion now? What could I say to him? What did he want? Then the voice in my head answered, you, Christine, he wants you. He has no right, he has behaved monstrously in the past. Yet there might have been some kindness in his stories, those words to a young girl. And his eyes held a sadness that I yearned to heal. I saw him before me again, crawling, begging me to learn to love him while I had seen his corporeal form as a betrayal. It was then that I heard the crash from down the hall and my name sobbed. I felt my heart twist as if stabbed by the mer call of my name. In spite of misgivings I caved to his need and rose.

Now standing before his door, I pressed my palm to the wood surface. He cried my name with such longing, surely that was permission to enter. I felt the cool metal knob twist beneath my hand as I pushed the door open. Oh he was ugly indeed, a death's head not unlike the one he had worn. His tears had created red blotches on his face and he still wore the red death costume. His eyes found mine and he turned quickly, one hand outstretched to push me away, while the other rose to his face. He had called my name. Was I the cause of his distress? Or did he have a need for me?

"No, you must not, I am too hideous," and he shrunk inward.

I twisted the fabric of my dress, wishing I could help, yet not sure how. Then I was returned to the memory of my father.

"I … your face does not frighten me."

His back was to me and I reached to touch his red velvet shoulder and he quivered so fragilely. I felt I had the power to create or destroy his world.

"Christine, I don't want to hurt you." he whispered as he turned to face me, his eyes finding mine through his fingers that sought to conceal his face much as he had when I had unmasked him. "Oh Christine."

The anguish with which he cried my name tighter our tether. My Angel was in pain. This man who had given me so much, friendship, my voice, and had rescued me from my loneliness, my grief. I felt my heart clench with each sob, compelling me to offer him comfort as he had me. Here before me was a lonely ugly man, who had been my friend when no one else would. He had believed in me.

I pulled at his arm, swinging him into an embrace, letting his head fall to my shoulder, dampening my dress as a new wave of tears fell. I ran my hand up and down his back much as my father had to sooth me. He was so painfully thin as I felt the cloth bunch until I felt his sharp angular frame. He shifted as his hand that had strived to cover his face fell. I would be inhuman to ignore such suffering. I thought he was surely dying because he began to shake and spasm. His arms were loose at his sides, clutching at the air, so awkwardly. His breathing was ragged as I felt the puffs of warm breath hit my neck as he sobbed. I felt my neck then grow wet as his tears streamed like a waterfall from his face to me. I cannot stand to make another being sad, to be the cause of their pain. I felt my heart tighten, responding to each cry. How can I hate him? Oh why could he not have behaved as a normal man? Then I felt him pull away. A great bit of mucus dangled from the hole in his face where a proper nose should have been. A red hue climbed, covering his face, matching him to his attire as he realized. He turned his back to me rummaging at a small table or desk until I saw him pull a bit of cloth from beneath a stack of sketches. His hand rose, I imagine to his face. We were this odd mix, having such intimate knowledge of each other's minds yet strangers. He seemed to stretch taller as he squared his shoulders. "My apologies for keeping you waiting. Five more minutes my dear. Please leave."

I crossed the room, shuttering the door behind me. What had just happened? I returned to my seat on the settee. The same ridiculous porcelain dog stared back at me as if daring me to believe anything had transpired. Had I not remained seated on the settee the entire time?

I felt him enter the room and I turned to watch him stride over to me. His bow was crisp like the black suit he now wore. The contrast of the white mask, when I knew the face that lurked behind was unsettling. Its face, so smooth in contrast to the uneven features below. He reached for my hand and I freely gave it, watching his mismatched eyes, searching for some part of the man I had seen just moments before. His lashes fluttered down as I felt his breath upon my hand before his lips were pressed. And I felt an indescribable feeling, like a fire sweeping through a field. Then it was gone as my hand fell to my lap. I suddenly was aware of his touch, now that only the memory of the contact remained.

"What is your name?" I asked, my eyes searching to see if he would speak the truth while my hands stayed neatly in my lap. The fingers of one resting on the other hand where his lips had been.

"My name, Christine, wants to know my name." He began to pace and I feared I had somehow agitated him. Then he was before me, on his knees on the floor, his hands upon mine. I looked down to where his hands grasped mine, as mine became clammy, but he seemed to take no notice. He jostled my skirts in his excitement and I felt his thighs push into my shins and knees. Even thus kneeled he towered above me and I had to look up to see eyes. His lips were at eye level as he spoke. "My dear girl, you would know my name. My names would fall from your devine lips. Few know my name for there is power in a name. A ghost does not have a name. Yet you are not like the rest. Yes, you are an angel".

I never thought that such a question would elicit such a response.

xxx

So much time has passed. Thank you for your reviews and follows. I am trying to write different Phantoms based on different performances I have seen. Youtube is a wonderful tool. Of course fill in any Phantom you desire.